Being, as I often find myself, the least armed person in the room is naturally a little disconcerting. I know I’m protected by procedures and laws, but it all really boils down to faith & trust in my co-workers. And I suppose I do trust them (else why would I be there, the only one in the room not sporting pepper spray, a taser, a baton AND a pistol) but sometimes I wish I could don a utility belt full of weapons, just to be on even footing.

I am a civilian employee in a police department. It’s not a bad gig (that I’m not allowed to carry so much as a pocket knife notwithstanding), but it’s clear that it’s not my natural environment… While I don’t necessarily care for being constantly out-gunned, I don’t actually really want to run in the rat-arms-race… I suppose I’d be happier somewhere where people didn’t attire themselves in a personal arsenal for training classes (in which I’m the trainer and my heavily armed students aren’t particularly fond of the subject).

All in all though, the officers I work with are a very respectable group. Once you take away the guns and the body armor (and the boots… and the sunglasses…), they’re just people. A motley group of personalities and temperaments, but I can’t say that I have issues with any of the officers I know. Truly, I have a much harder time with my associates in IT and accounting, and I’m endlessly thankful that these accomplices also aren’t allowed to carry weapons.

There are however, a group of officers who, I have to admit, scare the living hell out of me. I’m responsible for updating software in all patrol cars, and I dread the time it comes to work with these officers’ cars. I find it so unnerving that I’ve actually taken notes on their behaviors so that I can rise more deftly to these occasions.

Perhaps it was unwise of me to document my fears in writing. Moreover, it was foolish to leave this list lying on my desk where it would be found and subject to ridicule. Which is, of course, exactly what happened this weekend. I am a bit embarrassed by its discovery …but I find satisfaction that, no matter how much they tease, all my associates agree that they also would not tread into the territory of these cars. They can’t blame me for my apprehension, for who would willingly sit inside a car when the officer is literally snarling and trying to bite you? There is only one human that is welcome in these vehicles, the K9 handlers … the K9’s themselves would happily kill anyone else who dares enter their sanctum.

Happily pardoned of my fears and misgivings, I hereby publish my list for all to see:

************

K9 Officer Rover†: Ferocious upon approaching the car, but quiets down once I get in and start working.

K9 Officer Benji†: Will try to kill me through the bars for the first few minutes, but will finally settle in.

K9 Officer Fido†: Not so bad, so long as I don’t move.

…at all

…can’t even breathe.

K9 Officer Hooch†: Will seemingly only be satisfied with my bloody esophagus between his teeth. Will not settle in, no matter how long it takes… constantly growls, lunges at the bars, and sticks his muzzle through and tries to bite my elbows.

************

Is this funny? I can’t say that I really think so, but I tell you, it’s considered a riot at work… maybe it’s just law enforcement humor.

My fear of K9 officers was instilled in my pretty early on in my career. The week I started, one of the dogs tore a man’s calf muscle right of his leg. The pooch had to go through aggression training. It might seem odd then, that I adopted a retired K9 officer. But my beloved Tawney was not an attack dog, she was a drug-sniffer, and like me, she did not particularly fit in. She was a Golden Retriever amongst German Shepherds… She did not particularly like the military-style paradigm, and had a low tolerance for driving “Code 3″ to the scene. She tried to do her job, but in her eagerness to please and to be loved, she missed the entire spirit of “the bust.”

I love her dearly, and can’t imagine my life without my sweet dog. And so I’m very pleased that she was given early retirement for her lack of compatibility.

But I’m horribly envious.

†These are not the real names of the dogs, I’m obliged to confess… Police officers aren’t the sort of folk to name their dogs “Fido” or “Rover”… all police attack dogs I’ve known are given tough sounding names like “Bullet”‡ or “Caliber”‡. I just don’t want any would-be criminals amongst my blog readers hearing that “Rover” is pursuing him/her and thinking “Oh right.. Rover is the wimpy one! I don’t have to submit!”

I will not be held responsible when this “wimpy” dog rips a pectoral right off your chest.

‡Also not their real names.